The Redbreast
In country lanes the robins sing,
Clear-throated, joyous, swift of wing,
From misty dawn to dewy eve
(Though cares of nesting vex and grieve)
Their little heart-bells ring and ring.
And when the roses say to Spring:
“Your reign is o’er” when breezes bring
The scent of spray that lovers weave
In country lanes,
The redbreast still is heard to fling
His music forth; and he will cling
To Autumn till the winds bereave
Her yellowing trees, nor will he leave
Till Winter finds him shivering
In country lanes.
C. H. Lüders.